Moving On
by Zephyroh
Summary: 'His heart jumped, skipping a few beats and his mind went blank. Did he finally succeed? Did he actually find her? His heart was now racing and he noticed his hands were shaking, just like his voice was when he responded: 'My name is Neal. Neal Cassidy. I'm Emma's...I'm her ex-boyfriend. D-Do you know where she is'.' Set two years after Emma went to jail.


**Author's note: **This one shot was inspired by a headcanon of Tumblr user Schmacky. And big thanks to Linn (Tumblr user Assmonroe) who accepted to be my bêta for this fic.**  
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**Disclamer:** I don't own OUAT nor any of its characters.

**Moving On**

Neal hopped off the bus bringing him to Boston in the middle of the afternoon. Although the sun was shining bright, the air was freezing cold. He rubbed his hands together, blowing hot breath on them in a vain attempt to warm them up. He cursed himself for not thinking of buying gloves. He clutched his suitcase, looking around the city. He hesitated for a while. Should he start searching right away or should he find a place to stay first? Looking back at his failed attempts in the past, he decided that finding a motel to settle in would be the best idea.

After an hour of wandering around the city, he stopped at a cheap motel located next to a fast food. He entered the building and sighed when he realized it wasn't much warmer inside than outside. The idea of a good night sleep in a warm bed suddenly felt quite inaccessible. He checked in nonetheless, paying for two nights. He got into his room, it was small, wet, decrepit and he was pretty sure he saw a cockroach running towards the bathroom. But he was used to it. He sat on the bed which creaked under his weight. He opened his suitcase, filled with a few clothes, a toothbrush, his ID papers and one black, old notebook. The leather cover was scratched, there was a noticeable fold in the middle indicating it had been used a lot and the corners were bent. On this notebook was a list of cities that were all crossed but one. Boston. Neal checked his wallet and clenched his jaw when he saw what little money he had left. If he didn't succed soon, he'd have to either travel clandestinely – which he had already done, but he preferred not to – or he'd have to stop his search and find a job to gain more money. Or as a last resort, he'd have to steal. He pushed away those thoughts from his mind and thought he'd fidure things out when the time had come. He took the notebook and his papers and closed the suitcase.

He left it under his bed, locked the room and checked his pockets one last time to make sure he didn't forget his wallet or phone. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the notebook. Among the cities names, there were addresses. All were crossed except the last one. As soon as he went outside, the freezing air hit him like a cold wave. _First things first_, he thought, _warmer cothes._ Pushing his hands into his pockets, he bent his head down to try to block the cold wind as much as he could. He rushed into the first shop he noticed and went straight for winter clothing. He picked the less ugly beanie, woolen gloves and a scarf. Now, he could really start looking. Pulling out the black notebook again, his eyes roamed over the address like they often did these past few weeks. Despite himself, he felt a spark of hope. He knew he shouldn't – the past two years ought to have taught him better – but the optimistic part of him was surprisingly louder than the pessimistic one. A sly voice inside him still wondered how long he could keep on doing what he was doing. How many more failures until he gave up? Neal shook his head, pushing once again his dark thoughts away. He was used to it. Looking once more at the scribbled words already imprinted into his memory, he took out his map and started looking for benchmarks.

His eyes caught the name of the street he was in. Medfort Street and he needed to find a diner in Dorchester Avenue. Quite the long walk ahead of him. And he would rather walk than waste money on transport. He plunged his hand in his jacket pockets and pulled out his Ipod. Hesitating for a moment, he opted for Lou Reed's _Coney Island Baby _album.

Thirty songs, three albums and a few wrong turns later, he finally reached his destination. _1236, Dorchester Avenue. A bar restaurant._ It was a small establishment, brown painting on the walls and a darker one on the roof. He just stood there, he probaly looked like a fool, for a good five minutes, just gathering his courage and trying to calm the heartbeats of his hopeful heart. His feet were hurting, his head was spinning, a mix of hopeful and pessimistic thoughts tormenting his mind. He pushed the door open and was instantly surrounded by warmth. At least, they had heating. The place was almost empty. There was a couple in a booth at his right. It was obvious that they had finished eating but they didn't seem in a hurry to leave. There was a 40 something man leaning on the counter drinking a beer. ''_What a cliché... ''_. Neal couldn't hold back a chuckle. An old lady was standing behind the counter, re-arranging the bottles of ketchup and the salt. Neal hesitantly stepped forward. Eventually, the old lady looked up and noticed him. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, seeing that Neal wasn't saying a word.

''Can I help you, young man?''

''Y-Yes! Well- I think. Maybe, I don't know...'', he mumbled. You'd think after two years of repeating the same pattern – looking, finding, hoping foolishly, asking, getting disappointed – he would be better at it. He swallowed his saliva and cleared his throat. ''I'm looking for someone. I heard she was working here.''

The women raised her eyebrows higher and made a hand gesture towards him, indicating that he could go on.

''Do you know someone called Emma? Emma Swan? 5''5, blonde, in her twenties?'' he asked.

She squinted and he held his breath.

''Why are you looking for Emma? Who are you?'' she finally said.

He didn't answer right away. His heart jumped, skipping a few beats and his mind went blank. Did he finally succeed? Did he actually find her? His heart was now racing and he noticed his hands were shaking, just like his voice was when he responded:

''My name is Neal. Neal Cassidy. I'm Emma's...'' He paused for an instant, considering introducing himself as a friend. He decided against. Honesty was his best option. ''I'm her ex-boyfriend. D-Do you know where she is?''

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he felt the old lady becoming defensive. She straightened her back and gave him a cold look. He knew he looked bad right now. Actually, he knew he was in the wrong, and he wouldn't blame the woman if she told him to piss off.

''And why should I tell you?'' Any traces of sympathy he previously felt in her voice were now gone. Neal knew he should be careful with his next words.

''Look... I know I'm not looking very good right now. It's just... I fucked up with her. I disappointed her and broke her heart.'' Part of Neal's mind was panicking as he continued his words vomit. _So much for being smooth_, he thought. ''I just want to know if she's alright. I can't- I can't live with myself right now, and I just have to know. That she's good. That she's... happy.''

His voice cracked on these last few words. The idea of Emma being happy without him didn't hurt as much as it used to, or maybe he had just become familiar with the heartache coming with this recurrent thought. He looked down at the counter, unable to sustain the judging look of the restaurant owner. The silence was heavy. Eventually, she spoke:

''Emma doesn't work here anymore.'' His heart sank. ''_Please don't tell me she moved again, please don't.''_ ''She found a new job downtown. I don't know where.'' He sighed in relief. It was better than nothing. ''Lauren!'', she shouted all of a sudden. Neal jumped a little and looked at the woman with a confused look. She didn't bother giving him an explanation and just waited until a short brown haired women appeared, walking through the kitchen doors.

''This guy, Neal, is looking for Emma.''

The women named Lauren gave him a once over with a judging look. He thought that he was surely looking miserable with his ripped jeans, his old hoodie and his overused, mudded shoes. It didn't scream 'I'm a trustable guy.'

''Neal huh? Never heard of you.'' Her tone was harsh and cold.

In the back of his mind, Neal couldn't help but feeling happy that Emma found friends like that, who would protect her even if in this case, they were protecting her against him.

Neal chuckled sadly, ''Yeah, I'm not surprised.'' He looked down once again. He heard a sigh before feeling Lauren move closer to him.

''Ok look, I'm not gonna give you her address or where she works. But I'm gonna give you the name of a place she likes to hang out. It's a bar in the center of the city. Try your luck there.''

His head snapped up as Lauren was writing down the adress. He felt like he could cry. ''Thank you! Thank you so much!'' He strugged to find accurate words to describe his gratitude. Just as he was walking out of the door, he heard the old lady shouting to him. ''If I hear that you've wronged her again, things will not go well. I have your name and I know your face!''

Despite his aching feet, he was almost running on his way back. He found her. Finally. But quickly, the joy of his success dissipated and his fears came back in full force. What if she was miserable? What if she never got her life back together after she went to jail? How could he live with that? He got his Ipod out again and turned the volume up. Hopefully, if the music was loud enough, he wouldn't be able to overthink it.

He arrived at the place Lauren told him about later in the evening. The air was colder and the place was crowded. It was a nice looking bar, cleaner that most of the places he went to try to drown his guilt. He took a seat at the counter with a view on the main entrance. His eyes quickly scanned the room in hope of finding the familiar golden hair. As he half-expected it, he didn't spot her. He ordered a beer. Then another. Then another. The alcohol was slowly starting to have an effect on him and like everytime he got drunk, he started doubting himself. What was he even doing? Two years of chasing a ghost? What was the point? She probably hated him, just as much as he hated himself. During the course of his two years search, he had imagined a thousand scenarios of how this could end. Ultimately, he had decided to not speak to her if he found her, just like August told him. ''_Just make sure she's okay. I just want to know that.''_. Part of him was raging, wondering how he could see her without trying to explain everything. But he knew he couldn't.

Everytime the door opened and a breeze of fresh hair caressed his face, his heart stopped and he looked up in a crazy hope of seeing her. ''_Maybe she's not coming tonight, maybe I can come back tomorrow...''_ But the perspective of waiting a whole day at a bar was rather depressing. He pulled out a coin. Heads: he waits for her all night, and if she doesn't come, he'll give up. Neal ignored the voice in his head, outraged to see him give up when he was so close to finding her. Tails: he'll wait for her tomorrow and repeat the game.

He took a deep breath, finished his beer and threw the coin in the air. He thought of those movies. Do you know those movies where when they throw the coin, everything slows down and you're seeing the coin flips in slow motion? Well it wasn't like that. The coin fell down in the palm of his hand too quickly. Without allowing himselff time to think, he slammed the coin on the counter. Heads. He stared at it blankly. The laws of random had spoken. This was his last shot. He ordered another beer.

It was only an hour later, while he was playing with the coin, his chin in his left hand, slouched against the wooden counter with a bad urge to pee that, at the corner of his eyes, he saw it, her golden hair. He snapped back, and locked his eyes on her profile. Could it be? She was getting out of the bar. He threw a couple of bills on the counter, not even bothering counting them and made his way through the sea of people. He may have had elbowed a few people but he didn't care. He ran out, shaking his head from right to left, trying to figure out where she was. And then, he finally saw her. Emma. She was a bit taller than in his memory, and definitely even more gorgeous if it was possible. She was dressed in a black coat, and long hair falling in curls over her shoulders. She wasn't wearing glasses anymore. And she wasn't alone. She was standing pressed again a taller man who was whispering in her ear while she was giggling. The man raised his hand to her back to pull her closer, and that's when Neal noticed it. A wedding ring on his finger.

It didn't feel like a knife through the heart. More like – a cold shower. He just felt stunned. After all, he had no right to feel hurt. He was the one who left her. Of course she moved on. Of course she kept on living her life. Of course she didn't spend her days in bars, dwelling on her misery. Even after two years of searching for her constantly, jumping from city to city, he never actually thought about what he _wanted_ to find. He had imagined several options, but he never actually had one precise idea of how it would go. He did imagine her having someone else – how could she not find someone else – maybe he just never thought she would be married.

His heart felt heavy in his chest, but he wasn't hurting. She was okay. She was happy. She was going to have a family. She was going to grow old loved. She was going to have the family he never had. The family _they_ never had. He smiled weakly and stepped back. He graved her image in his memory one last time. He heard her happy laughter one last time. She was okay. She was happy. Now it was his turn to try and live his life.

He turned his back to the happy couple and started walking, head down. When he put his hands in his pockets, he felt his fingers bumping into the notebook. He pulled it out, and opened it. The page with the names of the cities was the first one. He looked through the other pages, they were covered in drawings. There was a beetle car, there were swans and most of all, there was her.

As he walked past a bin, he stopped. He held the notebook above it and paused. She was okay. She was happy. She had moved on.

He opened his fingers.


End file.
